


Shall We Dance

by Virareve



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Romance, Second Chances, ballroom comes to Westeros, how Elia got her groove back
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 09:19:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15433887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virareve/pseuds/Virareve
Summary: The Viennese Waltz had always been a ballroom staple to Elia. It was a comfort and support, an allusion to happier times.  The Bolero, on the other hand, existed as a memory that retained all the sadness she had allowed to well up inside of her. It brought on bittersweet recollections of all the things she lost: dancing, her pride, and a love long gone.Once upon a time, Elia Martell was forced to hang up her dreams. But as fate will have it, even retired dreams can still come true.





	Shall We Dance

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this sitting in my google drive forever. I loved watching ballroom dancing ever since I learned basic forms in etiquette classes in school and I love, love, love the movie Shall We Dance. 
> 
> I'm hoping to finally tackle the stories I have in my head around this universe, but, before I can do that, it would be unfair to leave out acknowledgements where they are due. This story is largely inspired by a collection of stories titled the Strictly Ballroom series by Philyra over at fanfiction.com.
> 
> Link to her account: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/246131/ 
> 
> (sidenote: She's a phenomenal writer and one of my all time favorite authors, among published and unpublished alike. I highly recommend exploring her works! ) 
> 
> Furthermore, I've always found the concept of Elia Martell fascinating and wish GRRM explored her more in the books. Now I'm taking the opportunity to indulge myself. Thank goodness for fanfiction! ;)

_So this it_ , Elia thought, leaning against the mirrored ballroom wall and sliding down to the floor. Her legs fanned out in front of her. She closed her eyes, relaxing against the musty wall. In her mind's eye, she was still looking over her white respirator mask, and she could see layers of dust that lightly coated the floors and railings. The aged, peeling paint on the walls had definitely seen better days. She could still see the indentations left from where heavy speakers and food laden tables had left their marks on the floor. All in all, the main room was leagues better than the rest of the building.

“Well, sister, ” Oberyn strolled into the room with all the suaveness he had accrued over years, “you’ve got your work cut out for you, I’ll give you that.”

“Tell me about it,” she sighed, her voice came out muffled through the thick material covering her mouth. 

She heard Oberyn move in front of her, and she opened her eyes a fraction to find him squatting, looking at her with a curious glance, “So what’s the plan, El? You gonna take it?”

Elia Targaryen paused to think about the question. She surveyed the room, and thought of the old musty reception area, the decrepit bathrooms, and the wild gardens. She would lose a huge chunk of the money she’d inherited from her grandmother if she bought this abandoned party hall.  With the market just slowly coming into swing after the long recession years ago and perhaps another one looming close in the horizon, there wasn’t a lot to determine whether or not she could make this work.

But for the first time in years, she wanted _something_. And that small desire gave her a thrill that felt like being born again. _If you’d only trust yourself, Elia, you wouldn’t believe the things you could do_ , her old dance partner had once told her. She hadn’t believed him then, eight years ago, when they disbanded after their one visit to Blackpool. Looking around her, though, at this seemingly hopeless place, she sincerely wanted to prove him right.

Elia looked Oberyn in the eye, and she saw him waiting patiently. She didn’t know how long she had been in thought, but Oberyn never judged her for that. “I’m going to take it,” she said, placing a hand gently on one  of his which rested on a squatting leg and squeezed it affectionately, “and it’s going to be the best decision I ever made.”

* * *

 

Elia struggled with balancing on the rickety, leftover wooden office chair. Though this poor excuse for furniture put her in a precarious position, she could finally pull off the dank, moth-infested curtains from their holds above the high windows in the reception room. She could always ask Oberyn for help but Elia was cursed with Martell stubbornness. She refused to go to  him unless she knew it was a real issue. So it was as she attempted to wrangle with the curtains that a feminine drawl came from the outside entrance. “Nice to see the old Sunspear Party Hall isn’t going to be such a dump anymore.”

“Ashara!”

Elia let go of the curtains and hightailed over to the newcomer. “What are you doing here?” she babbled, hugging her best friend and trembling with excitement. “You didn’t tell me you’d be in town, I thought you were still in New York.” Her best friend looked as gorgeous as ever, sporting a chic ensemble of designer ballet flats, leggings, and a carefully, draped loose sweater. Her deep violet eyes shown through the lightest part of the ombre-tinted glass of her aviators.

“Well,” Ashara said biting her lip, “I’m supposed to be on vacation but a little birdy-”

“Oberyn, you mean-”

“ _Obviously_. Anyways, you’re darling brother told me that you were looking to bring ballroom dancing to good old Westeros and I had to come see what that was about.”

Elia smiled. “Well, no one’s done it and I figured it was worth a shot. Though I’m worried," she admitted, "I wonder if I should be visiting the sept more often, praying for a miracle.”

Ashara smiled her infamous enigmatic smile.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Elia asked, suspicious. Then, she heard a scream of delight from outside where Aegon and Rhaenys were supposed to be playing with little Arianne and Oberyn. Pushing past Ashara, she stepped out, quickly blinded by the bright summer sun. She took a second to adjust and realized her son Aegon was  the one giving off excited squeals as a young red-headed women tickled him gently. Two other men, who she thought looked vaguely familiar, flanked her brother, one talking with him in amusement while the stood stoically beside them. “Ashara, what’s going on?”

Hearing her, the redhead stopped and stepped away from Aegon, though he tugged on her skirt to vye for her attention. Elia assessed her briefly, noting the rather proper, though casual way she was dressed: a modest sundress, a dainty necklace, and a long-sleeve cardigan. As the woman came closer, she realized her to be quite young.

“You must be Elia Targaryen,” she said as she approached. She held out her hand primly, but her smile was genuine and warm, “I’m Catelyn Tully. Pleased to meet you.”

Catelyn Tully? Elia’s eyes widened. As in two time Blackpool placer and likely soon-to-be-champion Catelyn Tully? She yanked down her respirator below her chin, in an attempt to look a little more presentable. Elia grasped Catelyn’s hand, “Ms. Tully, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Please, call me Cat,” she replied, “And I can only say the same. As the first female Westerosi to win at Blackpool, you’re quite the legend.”

Elia ducked her head, heat warming her face. “It was just a short stint, really, my health doesn’t allow for such heavy training these days.”

“All the more,” Catelyn placed a soft hand on her dirty, dust-covered arm, “considering your achievements in spite of the odds, it’s no wonder they call you the Queen of Westerosi Ballroom.”

Elia murmured an embarrassed thanks and looked over to Ashara, “So what is that I can help you all with?”

Ashara smiled impishly, “Well, we heard you were in need of instructors, so we thought we’d come in to audition.”

“ _What_ ?” Elia stared dumbfounded and flit her eyes over to look more closely at the rest of Ashara and Catelyn’s companions. _Hold on. Wasn’t that_ \- “You brought the Stark brothers too?” She could only manage to sputter as her head swiveled back and forth between all the newcomers. “I’m grateful for the interest but have you guys even thought about this? At this point, I don’t even know if Westeros is going to _like_ ballroom dancing.”

“All the more reason to come,” said Brandon Stark, son of renowned former tango legend Rickard Stark. He came forward, hovering behind Catelyn protectively, as would be expected in such a long-time dance partnership. His confidence was oozing and he flashed her his trademark playboy smile. “ With us around, everyone will love it.”

Ned Stark joined in, voice low and steady, and the more logical half to his brother. “And no more having to live overseas, it would be nice to be near home.”

Catelyn nodded. “With these accommodations and the presence of several past and current professional dancers we can continue to train as per usual. And,” Catelyn looked at her shyly, “I’ve always wanted to train with you, Ms. Martell.”

With that brief look, Elia knew she would only leave saying yes. Catelyn’s young, hopeful face reminded her of a distant time, back when she thought she could control her illness and make it in the world of dancing. Again, she remembered why she was doing this. Giving Westeros the chance to do the things she herself _could not_ would be enough.

“Of course,” Elia remarked, “You’re all welcome to join, though I can’t promise this is going to be an easy venture. Until we can get our feet off the ground, the pay won’t be very comparable to what you’d get in New York or London.” The four newcomers nodded, “but if you’re still in it...then,” she gave them a beatific smile, “I hope you’re all good at renovating.”

 

* * *

“You’ve really outdone yourself,” Oberyn said appreciatively, while his girlfriend Ellaria glided past him with one of his daughters. His eyes stayed glued to his paramour’s backside as she walked on by. Elia rolled his eyes.

“You better keep it in your pants Oberyn,” she threatened, “last thing I need is to hear is that you're having your sexcapades in my studio.”

Oberyn grinned. “Come now, sister. Where’s the excitement? Surely you yourself, have to have seen some fine specimen of man or women to warm your bed tonight?”

“The only ones warming my bed tonight,” she responded with an eye roll, “are my children.”

“Surely you’ve seen someone worth pursuing with all these beautiful people here,” he swept his arm over the room to prove his point and Elia silently agreed. Dancers, for some reason she had yet to understand, were very attractive people with very fit bodies. But there was no use giving her brother any fuel.

Instead, she ignored him to receive entering guests. “Selwyn Tarth,” she greeted warmly, “it’s so nice of you to make an appearance.”

Her parent’s longtime friend returned her greeting equally, his elegant wife Ainara following in equal measure. “Elia,” Selwyn remarked with an appraising glance around her new home, “it’s nice to see you doing well. The place looks wonderful.”

“Thank you,” she tilted her head playfully to the ballroom where people were mingling with each other and a few couples took to the floor to display their dancing skills. She could spy Brandon and Catelyn showing off a jive while onlookers looked on awed. “Is ballroom dancing going to be in your future sometime soon?”

Selwyn grinned and brought forward a small, gangly child Elia had not noticed lurking behind him. “Perhaps not for me, but Brienne here has been talking off my ear the last few months since Dancing with the Stars premiered on Westeros Entertainment so Ainara and I thought we’d indulge her and let her see some live ballroom dancing tonight.”

Elia flashed the little girl a smile but the girl turned away to burrow into her mother’s skirts.

“You’ll have to forgive Brienne,” Ainara explained kindly, “she’s a bit shy.”

Elia waved off the apology, “My own children can be the same way, think nothing of it.” She invited them to find their seats in the main ballroom, “I’m sure you all won’t be disappointed tonight and, please, feel free to take part in the dancing.”  

Her eyes trailed after the Tarths as they made their way through the ballroom. Elia took a moment to take pride in the ballroom’s current aesthetics. It looked far superior to any previous incarnation it may have taken on in the past. And, as the cherry on top, everyone was dressed to the nines. Women, bedecked in luxurious and beautiful dresses scattered around the room, walking around and socializing that seemed to Elia something out of modernized version of a Jane Austen novel. Debonair men with their fitted tuxes could be found at their sides, sitting at tables, and grabbing drinks from the open bars.

As more and more people filed in, Oberyn left her to help Ellaria with his girls, and Elia fell into a peaceful routine of smalltalk with her incoming guests while inviting them to learn more about her new business.

“Now would you look at this. If it isn’t Elia Targaryen.” Elia froze, pivoting quickly on her heel to find Arthur Dayne looking at her, not looking a day over twenty-five.

“Well, I’ll be,” she laughed, and stepped forward to wrap her arms around his neck in a tight embrace. “Arthur, it’s so nice to see you! Ashara didn’t tell me you were coming. I thought you were still out on deployment.”

“Got back today,” he said, hands moving behind his back in a way that alluded to his military career. “Drove in tonight, and the housekeeper gave me the update on Ashara’s and my parents’ whereabouts. Thought I’d surprise them here.”

“I suppose that explains why you’re not following dress code,” she pronounced haughtily, though a smile kept creeping on her face, “your military blues aren’t going to cut it here.” It had been several years since she’d last heard from him. They’d been dance partners since she was twelve and had worked their way through several circuits in the junior level, making their way to Blackpool as young adults. There they had won first in the Viennese Waltz and Bolero.

“You brat,” he chuckled, pulling her in for another hug, “be thankful I’m not here in sweatpants and a t-shirt.”

“I suppose,” she said, looking up at him, forgetting what it had been like to be so close to him again, “I guess the uniform will have to do.”

“Precisely,” he grinned. “I like the lengha by the way. Red has always suited you.”

Quickly, Elia realized the warmth she felt on the small of her bare back was the roughened and calloused skin of one of his palms. Cheeks reddening, Elia stumbled away from him ungracefully, she tried to cover it with a cough. “Um, thank you.” She stole a moment to recompose herself by smoothing down the skirt of her lengha, her thin fingers brushing over the intricate gold threading embedded into the deep red cloth.

“My pleasure,” Arthur offered. He turned toward the ballroom and looked back at her for the second, “Save me the first dance?”

She smiled. “Of course.”

As soon as he walked away, Oberyn’s voice crept in behind her. “Don’t think I didn’t see that sister. Looks like _someone_ has the hots for Major Dayne.”

“OBERYN!” she yelped and swung around to sock him in the arm, but he narrowly avoided her, cackling all the while.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A lengha is a specific type of outfit worn by Indian women. Google it and check out the gorgeous variety of them!


End file.
